Author: Ozzie

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Purple Carrot, and I’m definitely not affiliated with Tom Brady. I’m just a customer and now fan of Purple Carrot’s TB12 Performance Meals, and I buy them with my own money. I just want to talk about them because, quite honestly, I love them, and I think that maybe you would, too.

I saw the TB12 meal service advertised online a few months ago, so I thought I would check it out. I had recently been talking to my husband about reducing the amount of meat we prepare our meals with, I just feel like we are consuming too much and also wasting too much. I don’t think it is necessary anymore to eat meat at every meal, and for several reasons think it would be helpful to reduce animal-based protein by even one day a week. I feel like if we are going to consume animal flesh then we should make sure we are purchasing it by the happiest animals that ever lived, who are respected in life and in death, and how can we guarantee that if we’re not doing it ourselves?

You might have thought I was blaspheming the Almighty God in heaven above for suggesting we do not NEED meat all day all the time, and that I should just take up residence in the crunchy city of Northampton and start my totally unnecessary vegetable commune all by myself. You know you’re on to something when the children start getting upset by your crazy Earth-mother ideas, because you have my son. My son who told the

turnip cakes and quinoa tabbouleh

Subway sandwich artist to load up his sandwich with bacon when she asked him what he wanted for veggies. The son who at 5 years old started crying when I informed him I would no longer be purchasing chicken nuggets for him anymore after reading the book Skinny Bitch and I could no longer fathom preparing animal flesh. We definitely eat vegetables at our house, and somehow my bacon-loving son prefers vegetables to anything else he is plated and will finish them first like they are some kind of green deciduous dessert. We also definitely prepare meat. We are also aware of the CAFO Industry, and if you’re not, please educate yourself on it. I started to become aware when reading Skinny Bitch which quite frankly disturbed me and changed my life. I recommend The Omnivore’s Dilemma as great starting point.

So back to plant-based stuff. Another disclaimer — as you might have guessed, I’m not a food photographer, I’m barely even an adequate food describer. All my pictures were taken with my iPhone in available lighting, and sent through an Instagram filter because did you really eat it if you didn’t show everyone on Insta? I don’t usually take pictures of my food, either, but I took pictures of *this* food because it’s like, Tom Brady’s food and also I wanted to show comparison between my plate and the recommended image on the recipe card.

ramen bowl with broccolini and amaranth greens

So this TB12 meal service. The menu is pre-planned and is shipped out on Monday. I’ve been getting my delivery on Tuesday. It comes in a nice box with two great big ice packs, like the one you stole from the school nurse if that ice pack was a baby and the Purple Carrot ice pack was Vin Diesel. x2. You can opt-out of any week completely hassle-free by logging in and checking a box. Super easy, no guilt. (But after tasting this food–why would you want to?)

So I’ve got to say, Tom Brady knows what’s going on in the kitchen. Or his people do. Every meal I have cooked up so far–and that is every meal delivered to me from week one–has been fabulous. My favorites so far have been the turnip cake meal (pictured above), and tonight’s stuffed sweet potatoes. I love that everything is pre-portioned, I don’t need to rummage through my cupboards for seasonings. At most–olive oil, salt, and pepper. Seriously. Everything I have received has been super-fresh. The past couple of weeks, these ingredients have sat in my fridge until the weekend before I could do anything with them. Like Sunday. It’s been crazy over here, don’t ask. But everything has seemed as fresh as the day it was delivered–a testament to the quality of these ingredients. No produce, none, that I buy from the grocery store lasts 3 days never mind the 5, 6, 7 days it’s taking me to pull this stuff out of the crisper. And the grocery claims to source local. I have worried about the time it takes me to start cooking up, but it’s been for no reason. All ingredients have been pristine.

mung bean dal with tamarind, popped sorghum, and gluten-free naan

The flavors in these recipes have been such a pleasure. I have tried food I didn’t know existed, and with the exception of the radishes — have loved everything.

Some of the reviews of the TB12 performance meals call these meals a pain to make. I guess that’s true if you’re used to preparing boxed food. I am not a stranger to preparing meals from scratch, and am also not intimidated by cooking, either. I guess if you don’t consider yourself a cook or are unable to follow recipes, then this might not be the service for you. You will have to prepare everything. That naan over there? I had to mix it WITH MY BARE HANDS! That was probably the most challenging thing I have made so far. Also I scorched the sorghum a little but it tasted FINE and who knew what sorghum was or that it popped like popcorn and you can put it on your mung beans? I never even knew about the mung bean until yesterday. I like the mung bean with tamarind paste. I was afraid of the chili peppers, but for no reason because there wasn’t too much heat, in fact, I didn’t detect any heat.

My husband finds it to be a hassle, but I don’t mind. I have actually enjoyed it, as I have found the whole thing an experience, really. Maybe I’ve been dazzled by the intriguing new recipes. Whatever the case, it’s been worth the work! And look at Tom and Giselle. Those bodies are WORK, people! Yes, work that they hire other people to help them do, but work nonetheless!

Another thing I have liked it that they tell you it is 2 servings, but in most cases–it’s more than what 2 people can eat. And I don’t eat like a normal person, and even I can’t eat half of what is prepared. I discovered that you don’t have to eat meat to fill your belly. Seriously. You know on those diets how people are always lying to you, saying “there’s so much food–I’m never hungry!” That is shit. They’re starving and 2 seconds away from inhaling a box of oatmeal creme pies.

You know it. I know it.

I’ve always wondered how the heck I would stay full if I went plant-based. All I could imagine was endless, sad passes at the Stop N’ Shop salad bar, scooping the same old lettuce leaves and sunflower seeds into my crappy plastic container. It was a sad, sad thing to imagine. But Tom Brady fixed me. I just didn’t know how to put these things together into meals and make them taste good. You really can get filled up on plants. I seriously had no idea before now.

Stuffed Sweet Potato

These meals are high in calories, I have noticed. Not sure why, other than maybe the olive oil? I know there’s some diet doctrine that says a calorie is a calorie is a calorie. Look at the dude who lost weight eating twinkies every day. But there’s other doctrine that tells us the type of calories you consume are important. 1,000 twinkie calories are not going to be processed in the body the same way 1,000 vegetable calories will be. Know what I’m saying? Insulin is a really important factor in why bodies store fat, which begins with diet and the type of sugars you consume, and the body’s reaction to those sugars. There is a difference.

I never feel bad stuffing myself full of this food because I know everything in the meal is good for me. The meals are vegan and gluten-free, yes high in calorie, but super low in guilt. You know how they say the Americans are an over-fed but under-nourished population? It’s important to your health to understand that paradox. You can feel good putting these meals into your body knowing you’re fueling yourself with wholesome nutrition… And if it helps me to look anything like Giselle, just take my money!!

So here we are, twenty of us in class 1508, learning the rules of the ruck. We met in Bushnell Park, Hartford, CT. We received our ruck inspection and safety briefing before starting the “Welcome Party.” That was fun.
This is before I knew my new-ish, kind of expensive, running shoes which were totally inappropriate for this event, would be garbage in a few hours. That’s me, center, in the grey. One of my friends is to my left in orange, and if you’re wondering what her expression is, it is her wondering what the ruck she signed up for and also quietly cussing me out.

I have completed several road races of varying difficulty, but have never completed a race with “challenges” such as a mud run. I feel comfortable with not climbing wall after wall and splashing around in sweat and god-knows-what-filled pools of watery mud. But this isn’t like that. First of all, it isn’t a race. It isn’t brought in on trucks. There aren’t any water stops and there aren’t any swag bags or massage tables at the end. This challenge uses what’s available in the city, and you bring your own water with you, on your back and shoulders, and on your friend’s shoulders.

Why did I sign up for this? In a word–jealousy. Another word–determination.

My husband signed up for a ToughRuck, not associated with GoRuck. It’s a marathon-length ruck event with military and civilian divisions, associated with the Boston Marathon. He assumed I would not be interested, so he didn’t tell me about it. By the time I resolved to register, the registration had sold out, so I was pissed. Count me out of a ruck march, will you? Well I’ll just find my own!
That’s when I started e-mailing and researching and that’s how I found GoRuck. It’s a company that makes rucking gear, and created challenges as a way to test out their product’s durability. They have several types of challenges, the Light, Tough, Heavy, and other special challenges. I signed up for the Light. Then I got three of my friends to sign up with me. I started doing the workouts listed on the website. I thought I would whip myself into shape!

Then I stopped the workouts, which may or may not be obvious from these photographs.

The “Before” Photo

So after we finished the Welcome Party, we headed on our way to our first destination in a double-column. We were on the city streets, twenty-one of us total, led by a flag-bearer, so I imagine we looked a bit out of the ordinary. We had to carry weight as a team of various shapes and loads. We had to work together, comply, and get it done. We completed exercises as a team, we carried a huge log as a team (well they did, I was a team lead for that leg of the journey), and at one point, we even carried each other. We carried on like this for hours and miles.

We received a reminder from our cadre during one of the challenges that it might feel sucky getting down on the ground and back up over and over with our 15-25lb ruck on our back in the plush grass… Just remember all the men and women who have to do that because of a real and deadly threat, with an average of 70 lbs on their backs, in much different terrain.

Hello. Yeah, what we were doing really wasn’t that bad.

The “After” Photo where we are all obviously feeling a little more bad-ass than when we started

At the end, we were all kind of tired, but no worse for the wear. Maybe it was because I didn’t carry the log, but I could have probably kept going if it had been a longer challenge.

We finished with some more team exercise before receiving our GoRuck Light Patches. If you’re looking for something different and you’re up for some real physical activity, teamwork, and getting dirty then definitely sign up for a GoRuck Light. Today, I feel pretty well with only some mild discomfort and stiffness but I have felt worse after running a distance road race with no weight and no other physical challenges.

What we came here for

But don’t forget the right shoes. Make sure they fit well, are comfortable, can get dirty, and that you’ll be OK with never being able to wear them again. And also dry socks.

I was looking forward to lacing up yesterday. It was my first day of a 33-day military order which allows me 3 hours of fitness time per week during the duty day. The weather was nice, a bit windy, but nice, coming off a stressful holiday weekend. Turning on my rusty RunKeeper app, I was prompted to run for 26.2 minutes for the Boston Marathon. Don’t mind if I do!

I have missed being able to run around within the safety of the base’s gates without having to run into my family time in the evening. Shortly after moving to where we live now, I would go for early morning runs before my husband went to work, but was quickly discouraged when I was harassed every time I went out. I had never experienced this harassment in our previous neighborhood no matter what time I went out. I appreciate running on base because there is very little traffic to navigate, there aren’t any hills to tromp up or down, and everyone around supports physical health and fitness—I’ve never experienced harassment while running here.

It has been difficult since having my daughter who is almost three now, to consistently make time for physical fitness, be it running or going to the gym or whatever. She literally attaches herself to me, and with my husband now working overnight, time is extremely limited. Knowing I was coming on a month-long order, I signed myself up for a few races to motivate me to train. Maybe I am setting my expectations a bit high, but I have signed up for the 2017 Boston Run to Remember, which is a tribute to fallen law enforcement officers and first responders. I ran in the 2013 five-mile race with my friend, while my husband ran the half. I remember it being a really crappy day, but a really nice course. The previous year, I “ran” the Manchester half marathon in New Hampshire on virtually no training, it was a terribly trying route, I experienced debilitating Morton’s Neuroma (MN) pain where I had to stop, take my shoe off, rub my foot before carrying on. Terrible experience. That was the only half I’ve ever “run,” if you can even call it running. More like crawling.

Finishing the Holyoke Road Race (in blue)

Last month, I participated in the annual Holyoke St Patrick’s Road Race which is a hilly 10k. This month—this weekend, actually—I am participating in a GoRuck Light, which is an appx 7 mile ruck. This past weekend, my husband completed a Tough Ruck affiliated with the Boston Marathon. I missed registration and despite my attempts to acquire a bib, the organization would not sell me one, so I signed up for a GoRuck instead to quiet my jealousy. Next year, I will be registering for the Tough Ruck.

So here I am, gearing up for a half marathon, and yesterday I began training and I hated every step. I made it a mile before I started feeling the MN in my foot. My lungs felt tight. It was just an uncomfortable-feeling run in general, which was pretty disappointing given how much I was looking forward to it. I committed to running 26.2 minutes, and I know I can do it if I just stick with it, so I just did it. I was hoping I would feel good afterwards, but honestly, I didn’t. Maybe I was still feeling heavy from my big Easter dinner.

But if I’m going to meet my goal, I must keep going. Keep trying. Keep lacing up. Keep fighting. I keep remembering “where I used to be,” and keep wanting to get back to that place. Where I could just run and run until time ran out. Where people knew me as “a good runner.” Where two miles was a warm-up.

When it’s almost time to go, they’re going to remember you as a kitten. They’ll remember the little pet shop in the building underneath your manager’s office. They’ll remember finding you, a little stripey furball, and how they felt better holding you in the palms of their hands after having just quit their job.

They’ll remember how you used to somehow jump on the roof of the house as a kitten, and how they’d panic, trying to get you down.

They’ll remember when you got out of the house and were lost for a week. How they put up signs with your picture on them, and how someone had found you and gave you back.

They’re going to remember that horrible week when you got into some kind of accident, how they nursed you back to health. How they layed with you for hours, stroking your fur, and cleaning up after you. How ultimately, you had to have surgery, but they had it done, so you could come back home.

When it’s almost time to go, they’ll remember how you always slept at the foot of their bed, every night.

They’ll remember how you loved living in the woods, how you’d watch the critters running around (and sometimes catch them, too!).

When it’s almost time to go, you won’t feel like climbing up onto your favorite perch, and watch the birds pecking at insects. You won’t feel like batting the little plastic seal from the top of the milk jug around the kitchen anymore.

When it’s almost time to go, they’ll say sorry when they poke you with the little needle. Then they’ll scratch your chin really nice, and you’ll feel like purring, forgetting all about how much you hate shots.

They’ll have to prick your ears when it’s almost time to go, and it will hurt. But they will reward you with belly rubs and more treats than you ever got before. You’ll feel poorly, but they’ll get down on the floor and let you snuggle in their lap, even if it means they overcook their dinner.

When it’s almost time to go, you might fall asleep at the foot of the bed, but then change over to the little cushion they put on the floor for you, to make it easier on your tired legs.

When it’s almost time to go, they’ll buy food for you, and you’ll try to eat it, but you just won’t feel much like eating. You’ll feel really thirsty, and they’ll give you plenty of water, but it will never be enough.

When it’s almost time to go, they’ll go outside with you so you can feel the sun on your fur and the grass on your paws. They won’t feel upset if your come inside with dirty paws.

The birds will squwak and try to scare you away, but you won’t even notice.

They’ll let the little one give you a hug, when they usually don’t let her near you. They’ll tell her to give you as many treats as you would like, too.

When it’s almost time to go, they’re going to try to act normal, but you’ll know something isn’t the same. Your mama will cry more than she usually does, but you won’t realize her tears are for you.

When it’s time, they’ll put you in the car and drive you to the doctor. They’ll tell you you’re a good boy, and that it isn’t fair.

They’ll tell you it’s not your fault. They will tell you they are sorry, and they will cry.

I only had a slow two miles to go, and for some reason it felt like I was pulling a cart behind myself when I ran. I am considerably heavier from when I was running regularly, so I guess I was pulling along some extra weight. Probably the only difference between walking and running was my posture—the speed probably wouldn’t have tipped you off to the fact that I was running. Runkeeper was paused for the first half mile or so of my run before I noticed, so I ended up going about2-1/2miles. I considered stopping when Runkeeper told me I went1-1/2miles since I knew that was actually a full 2, but I decided to give myself a little bonus mileage and run until the app told me to stop. It could only help me. Besides, I signed up for a challenge where I have to run 5 hours this month, so, that time counted.

I was glad to have my run done in the morning and I really enjoyed the rest of that day—what a beautiful day! I felt proud of myself for having pushed myself out the door that morning when I could have pulled the covers up and kept on sleeping. My husband and I both graduated that afternoon, he with his Masters, me with my Bachelors. Such a relief to finally be done!

The weekend felt so much more enjoyable without any homework due. I didn’t do much Sunday because my husband was working and I had the baby. It got up to 90 degrees so we really should have done more than go to the mall and out to dinner, but we didn’t. And that’s ok. I have to work next weekend so we’ll just have to sneak in some enjoyable times in the evenings after work. I wish it was beautiful like this every day (I really need to move south!).

I promised myself that when my coursework was done, I would start running again. I have had so much going on in my life, I quite literally have not been able to dedicate the time to running, even after purchasing a treadmill. I am not one for excuses though, so I am just putting it out there and moving on. I finished my last assignment of my undergrad degree this past Sunday, and so I set up a fresh goal in my RunKeeper app. I decided to go for the last comfortable distance I was at when I stopped running, which was about 5-6 miles typically. I signed up for the sub 60 minute 10k plan.

This past Saturday, my husband bought me a new pair of Mizunos since my pair had pretty much worn out. I was thankful, but for some reason it gave me a small level of anxiety knowing I needed to use them now that I had them. I suppose that anxiety was a great motivator! I failed my physical fitness test with the Air Force last month, which had never happened to me before. It was embarrassing and also a big wake-up call. I had never before experienced my body fail to do what I wanted it to do. But as I lifted myself up off the mat for sit-ups, and I felt my soft belly in between my thighs and my chest–I knew I was in trouble.

With all of that behind me now as well as coursework, I can focus some more of my energy on running again. The best thing is having my husband’s support. He called me up today to ask if I could get the baby from daycare so she didn’t have to wait for him to be done with his appointment. When I told him I was planning on running before leaving the base, he immediately changed back to picking the baby up so that I would have time to run. I appreciate that–him–so much.

It was the most beautiful evening when I crossed the street over to the track that I used to run all the time. I do miss this part of my old job–being given 3 hours of every workweek to exercise. It helped a lot, and I wish more employers saw the value in affording their employees time for fitness. Anywho…

One foot in front of the other. I didn’t know how well I would do. My body is much heavier than it was a couple of years ago, which makes it harder for my ankles and knees to carry me along. Thankfully, I did have those new sneaks, and they did a great job of absorbing the shock. I just had to carry these bones around the track about 4 times to make it two miles. I wasn’t quite to a mile and a half when I started talking myself out of finishing. But I finished that third lap and I pushed myself on, watching only the little bit of road just in front of me instead of looking out at what I had left. In my head I kept telling myself that it was OK that I wasn’t running fast–I was running. And eventually I would make it to goal. And I did.

Monday was the first day I have exercised since about my 5th month of pregnancy. A couple of women from work were headed off to the gym and asked me if I would like to join.

Sure! Why not?

Famous. Last. Words.

I should be dead right now, and I nearly am.

Ok, that’s being a bit dramatic.

I came this close to losing my legs, people! THIS close! If I had to choose keeping my legs or becoming lunch for a honey badger, I probably would choose to become a honey badger’s lunch. It was that bad. The ridicule may have hurt worse than my thighs.

This is what I get for jumping in on my friend’s workout who have probably been doing this workout for ages. And here I come, three months after having my baby, not working out in forever, and I’m all like, “I got this shit. Watch out.”

So they put me on the leg press machine. We did squats with a bar having no weights on it. We did weighted curtsey-lunges. We did dead lifts. My dead lifts were with a naked bar. And we did calf-raises. I used my body weight for most of those.

I should have just trusted my instincts, blown them off and put my out-of-shape-post-maternal-ass on the track. Like I had planned on.

For the rest of the week, I would look like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz before Dorothy put oil on his knees.

I did this nonsense on Monday. It’s Friday now. I’m sill crying when I use the stairs (Thank GOD we live in a ranch style home!).

I went to the mall yesterday to buy an interview suit. I ended up spending about $100 more than I had anticipated because I couldn’t bear to walk any further to the store my friend told me to go to. The one where the suit jackets don’t cost $89. Imagine what it probably feels like to have strands of spaghetti as muscle fibers in your thighs. Some cooked. Some not. Imagine someone walking with cooked and uncooked spaghetti for legs and that would be me all week.

I don’t even want to exercise ever again. Screw you, weights. And then Monday when I go to run, my body’s going to be a year older than it ever was. Duncan Lou the two-legged boxer dog will look like a beautiful ballerina compared to the mess I’ll be. Oh, for the love of a skinny waist!

This evening on my drive home from work, I was listening to the radio as I usually do. The deejay asked his listeners if they had ever felt let down when they saw an actor or actress naked. He gave his own examples: Elizabeth Berkley and Michael Douglas. He even likened Douglas’ body to a days-old balloon shrinking in a corner. After the next song he took a call. The caller said he was disappointed when he saw a nude of an older Farrah Fawcett. The announcer agreed and added another actress to his list: Lindsay Lohan in Playboy magazine. He said she looked like she had over-baked in the sun.

How dare he? How irresponsible of him.

Listening to this deejay made me feel angry. These celebrities might be intangible to us, regular, people living in some shitty town in Massachusetts’ ass. These are real people, though. How horrible it must feel to know your naked body is just “disappointing.” At your most vulnerable, someone feels it necessary to point out how unappealing you look without clothes on. How sad would it be for someone, maybe they worked very hard to feel confident naked, to have someone else criticize their appearance.

How much worse is it to be criticized on your nude body, based on photographs that were never meant to be seen by millions of people?

Why does anyone think it is alright to publicly critique someone’s naked body like they’re a summer romance novel or a Lifetime Network movie? Like they’re just objects and not people.

My first instinct is to want to see this deejay and publicly criticize his physique. That would make me no better than him, though. So how then do we get people to realize their criticisms like this hurt not just the person they’re insulting, but the people who are listening to them?

Let’s face it–the majority of us do not look like celebrities. I know I don’t. I’m not in any sort of delusion that my body is any sort of desirable, but it would probably feel good to have a body I would be proud to show off–maybe like Lindsay or Elizabeth. But if those bodies don’t even look good, well then, what does? What if, after lots of hard work, I managed to attain a body I feel is reasonably attractive when I see it naked? Hearing disapproving comments about a celebrity’s body would probably cause me to feel apologetic about my own body when I did reveal it. It doesn’t make me feel better that these celebrities, whose job it is to look attractive, failed to impress some jackass on the radio.

But there it is. He. Is just. A jackass. A jackass with a microphone. Desensitizing Americans against women. He is substantiating the problem that views women as objects that we have the right to critique, instead of viewing them as people with feelings. And when women aren’t people anymore, they are marginalized. They are assaulted. They are harassed. They are humiliated. And no one bats an eye.

Don’t feed into it. Don’t be one of them. Imagine some radio deejay announcing over the open airwaves that your sister’s body was such a let down when he saw it naked. Imagine him saying how gross your daughter’s body looked in a photograph she posed for. That your mother used to be beautiful, but now that she’s aged, she should keep her clothes on because her body just ain’t what it used to be. She’s a big turn-off now. Unattractive.

I don’t think the solution are these body image projects that show regular women in their underwear so more regular woman can see them and relate to them. I don’t think the answer is to print photographs of celebrities without makeup on. I do think, however, that it would help if there weren’t television programs on air whose purpose is to judge every celebrity’s appearance, either positively or negatively. I don’t think there should be a negative. If a celebrity makes some bad fashion choice, say “bless her heart” and move on. If a celebrity has some bloat going on, let’s not splash a magnified image of her “baby news” on all the websites and magazines, because it’s probably just your run-of-the-mill cheeseburger baby that she’ll dump out in a couple of days. Focus on maybe how beautiful her hair looked, instead of honing in on her least flattering feature that day. It breeds ugliness and hatefulness, and eventually, eating disorders and self-loathing.

So we’re on day 8 of the whole30. I’ve made it a whole7 without caving in to social pressure or delicious media images of what I used to eat. I have trolled Pinterest for things that I would like to put in my face, but won’t. And there was one close call where I almost tested the kid’s pasta to see if it was cooked.

I was feeling thinner so I pulled on a pair of my size 8 shorts. I guess it was all in my head, hoping that I could drop a dress size in week. The shorts still wouldn’t button. Same as before. I so want to pull my scale out, but I haven’t, and I will not. I will not break the rule.

Yesterday, for some reason, I felt happy. It was a beautiful day. The baby took naps longer than 10 minutes long, so I went outside and pruned the hedges and scrubbed the pool to get the algae into the filter. I didn’t want yesterday to end. I remember from my first attempt at a Whole30, having a change in my general disposition from one of grouchiness and lethargy to just being in an overall better mood. Maybe it’s back? I also feel like my skin is improving. The pores on my face look like they’re clearing out. It’s not perfect, but I don’t know… It just looks better to me without makeup.

So on to week two. Week two will come with a couple of challenges. First, my husband’s birthday is this week and he wants a pineapple upside-down cake (that he shouldn’t be eating!). Second, it is labor day weekend and we will be going to my mother’s for a barbecue. Rob and I have already talked about bringing some of our own food to make sure we stay compliant. We are worried it will hurt my mother’s feelings. She mentioned she wanted to give us a wedding cake at the barbecue since no one was at our wedding and we didn’t celebrate at all. She looked disappointed when I told her we would be doing a Whole30. We’ll see if she has a cake for us and figure out the best thing to do.

I caught this gem of a segment on the Today Show this morning. I have enjoyed being able to watch this morning show during my summer hiatus from work, but this segment was just too much for me. At first was I like, cool, my kids go back to school next week, I’m all for good ideas to make it better. And then I watched it and I was all like Tamron, I like you a lot. You’re my favorite Today Show host. But are you for real right now? You love this idea? Seriously? These are top tips?

I think this lady is from crazy town. No one is going to wake their kids up to music and signal them in this way to know what to do in the morning. Is this for real? So ok, let me get this straight. Finding a song on your phone and playing it loud enough for your kids to hear is easier than just saying to them: “Brush your teeth before you knock someone out with your nasty breath!” Or. OR! Your kids just get used to the routine every morning–like most people do–and they pretty much know what to do without being told.

When my son was pre-school age, I used a chart for him on his wall as a sort of check-list for him, and that was a stretch, but not unrealistic. You think kids are going to respond to musical cues? Whose kids do you have? And how is this done? Do you have a playlist set up in their room that goes off at the right time? Or do you have to walk your iPod over there and hold it up in the room so they hear it… I just… I don’t understand all the logistics of this plan. This sounds complicated more than it does simplifying. How have kids gotten ready for school until now without songs to let them know? Try that musical crap with my boys and see what happens. No kids I know are going to give a shit about music. Kids respond to threats. That’s what I know. Forget about it.

And then–THEN–This lady suggests journaling while in car pool lines?

WHAT? No. Just no. Is that her answer to not Face-booking when you’re waiting in your car? Journaling? Should we do seated car-yoga poses while we’re at it? Maybe her idea was to let your frustrations out in the book rather than honking your horn and waving fingers at the other parents in cars who aren’t paying attention and are trapping you in. Maybe this lady gets honked at a lot.

And this journal? You know where it came from? From a “she-mergency kit.”

Yea I can see that not being embarrassing.

“Hey honey, do you have a pen in your car that I can sign my check with?”

“Yes, dear, it’s located in my she-mergency kit.” *smile* And then also adjust your pearls and smooth your apron because you’re June-fucking-Cleaver.

There better be some Kit-Kats and Cadbury eggs in that she-merency kit, otherwise I’ll KNOW it’s a joke. Every “carpool emergency kit” needs chocolate. I didn’t see that in there, though.

I’m sorry. She seems like a lovely lady, and her family must be very lucky… But her ideas are just unrealistic. I don’t have a place in my home to store decorated, organizational soup cans on a three-tiered cupcake stand in my home. Our kids have to pull the pencils out of “the drawer” every day. And “the drawer” isn’t lined with cutesy contact paper, and doesn’t contain a special organizer for pencils, either. I guess she does have the space for this stuff. Maybe thinking up these brilliant ideas is what pays for her cupcake stands. I don’t know. Come to my house and pull this shit and see what happens. And we’re neat and orderly in our home and our kids aren’t horrible brats, either.

I feel like trying this one day, the music thing, recording it, and uploading it to the Internet. For fun. Let’s see how many times the boys ask me “uh what does that song mean?” And when I tell them it means eat your damn Cheerios, I could have told them that without Pharell’s help thank-you-very-much.